I didn’t write or say this, but I don’t have a source for it, sorry.
“So if you speak to a woman who is otherwise occupied, you’re sending a subtle message. It is that your desire to interact trumps her right to be left alone. If you pursue a conversation when she’s tried to cut it off, you send a message. It is that your desire to speak trumps her right to be left alone. And each of those messages indicates that you believe your desires are a legitimate reason to override her rights.”
– an excerpt from Phaedra Starling’s “Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced”
THIS POST IS THE FOURTH OF A SERIES OF POSTS IN WHICH I DESCRIBE A RELATIONSHIP I HAD WITH AN EMOTIONALLY AND SEXUALLY ABUSIVE MAN. CHAPTER 3 IS HERE AND THE REST OF THE SERIES CAN BE FOUND ON THE STORIES & SERIES PAGE. THANK YOU FOR READING, AND PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SHARE THIS STORY SO THAT OTHERS CAN LEARN FROM MY EXPERIENCES INSTEAD OF NEEDING TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES.
My job was boring. I was a staff scientist at an environmental consulting agency, and per the instructions of my overbearing manager, Angela, we used AIM Pro for intraoffice communications. I also used it for personal correspondence.
“What would we name our kids?” Eli asked me one day over instant messenger as I mindlessly entered potential clients’ information into a spreadsheet.
“I don’t know… I could see us having a daughter.”
“I’d love a daughter. But you know I’d be so protective.”
“Not as protective…”
We both laughed.
He continued, “You’d come home one day and ask where she is, and I’d be like, ‘Um… She was right here,’ and we would go out and see her eating tomatoes in the garden.”
“Who eats plain whole tomatoes?!” I laughed.
“I did! She would get it from me!” he insisted.
“She’d have pigtails.”
“And your green eyes.”
“Green eyes aren’t inherited, they’re a mutation.”
“Whatever. She’d look like you.”
“I like the name Abbie.”
“But hyphenated with something.”
The weird thing about the digital era is that you can fall for someone, really fall for them, without ever meeting. Not in an obsessive fan-fic way, but with very deep, true, invested emotion. Continue reading
THIS POST IS THE THIRD OF A SERIES OF POSTS IN WHICH I DESCRIBE A RELATIONSHIP I HAD WITH AN EMOTIONALLY AND SEXUALLY ABUSIVE MAN. CHAPTER 2 IS HERE AND THE REST OF THE SERIES CAN BE FOUND ON THE STORIES & SERIES PAGE. THANK YOU FOR READING, AND PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SHARE THIS STORY SO THAT OTHERS CAN LEARN FROM MY EXPERIENCES INSTEAD OF NEEDING TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES.
There wasn’t much that I could eat without getting sick, so Eli boiled plain white rice while I sat on the couch trying to avoid eye contact with Lucy. She was still mentally confined to the corner but following our every motion with her eyes, and would occasionally whine gently or optimistically wag her tail in the hopes that she would be released.
Eli exited the kitchen with a bowl of rice for me, a glass of neat scotch for himself, and joined me on the couch. I nudged him and gestured toward the dog, but he ignored me and turned on the television. After a while I asked if I could borrow his laptop to e-mail my parents and let them know I had arrived safely. I browsed the Internet and ate my rice while he sipped scotch and watched the news.
When we were both ready for bed, he finally allowed Lucy to move and give me my greeting, commanding her “COME!” as we walked up the stairs to the bedroom. She wasn’t allowed on the bed, but after nearly licking my face raw with her ebullience, she settled on the floor and we climbed under the covers. Eli spooned me from behind, one hand cupping my butt and the other resting between my breasts.
In the morning, Eli told me he wanted to show me something. He led me downstairs to his study and asked me what I thought. Continue reading
Guy: Do you prefer honeypot or little fitty? xx
Me: How about we just call me by my name?
And I never heard from him again. I guess an identity based not solely on objectification is a deal-breaker for this one!
Fucking gem of a conversation on Tinder at 1AM:
Guy: American girls know how to have fun?x
Me: Worst opener ever, one chance for redemption
Guy: I love going down Continue reading
This post is the first of a series of posts in which I describe a relationship I had with an emotionally and sexually abusive man- how I came to be in that relationship, why I stayed, why I left, and how I slowly and painstakingly rebuilt myself afterwards. It’s all true, as told from my personal perspective, with names and places changed to preserve identities and allow me full freedom of expression without fear of ramification. The rest of the series can be found on the Stories & Series page. Thank you for reading, and please feel free to share this story so that others can learn from my experiences instead of needing to make the same mistakes.
I don’t lie, as a general rule. I do my best to phrase my truths diplomatically, although sometimes I fail and what comes out is too blunt, but I would rather be forgiven for bluntness than for lying. To me, it’s the one and only immediate deal-breaker for a relationship. I’ve come to realize that, to me, it really is an unforgivable sin.
But I did lie, once.